


Firelight

by Enby_In_Fandom



Category: Pellinor - Alison Croggon
Genre: Angst, Crushes, First Love, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-23
Updated: 2018-02-26
Packaged: 2019-03-22 18:01:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13769547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enby_In_Fandom/pseuds/Enby_In_Fandom
Summary: Sometimes, when Hem and Saliman sit around the fire by themselves, Hem wants nothing more than to clear the lines of worry from Saliman’s face with soft kisses.Yet he can’t. Not now, not ever.





	1. Nyanar’s Advice

**Author's Note:**

> This is just the first chapter, the second one may be slow to come. It’s just an idea for now, but I’d like to write more of it.

Hem found himself seeking out Saliman’s company more often, in private. He would realize that he yearned to feel the older man’s touch, even something as simple as an arm slung around his shoulder, or a hand helping him up after a sparring session. In the quiet nights when they sat together around a small fire, sometimes speaking and sometimes not; Hem often took these opportunities to study the other man — the way the fire cast flickering shadows across his dark skin, the way his eyes gleamed golden in the light.

If Saliman noticed the way Hem’s breathing grew labored when he’d pin him down when sparring, or how his touches lingered, he never said anything. But if Hem noticed that Saliman kept him pinned for longer than was strictly necessary, or that the older man’s stares lasted a bit longer than was right, he never pointed it out.

It was no surprise when Hem laid awake one night and came to the startling realization that he loved Saliman. He loved with a wholeness he hadn’t even realized existed. Sighing to himself, he poked at the fire with a scowl. There was no way that Saliman would return his feelings, at least not like that. It seemed a pointless endeavor to even hope.

One such evening, after training, he retreated to the room he’d met Nyanar, lighting a magelight and feeling hopeless. He took a seat on the stone table, silently cursing himself for getting too attached to people.

_“There is always hope. For when hope dies, so the world dies with it.”_ A voice, seemingly in his head spoke, and he looked up at the tapestry of the Elidhu, noting the almost-there smile that the tapestry did not usually have.

“But it still feels hopeless.” He pointed out, and felt more than heard or saw the amusement from the other. “I just… I care for him. And it’s more than he’ll ever care for me.”

_“Are you so sure, Songboy?”_ The voice was teasing, but kind, and Hem relaxed, letting his head drop as he nodded.

“Very sure. He’s far older than I, and undoubtedly sees me as little more than a friend.”

_“How do you feel towards him? What is it you have such trouble with? Tell me, so that I may try and lend you my aid. I do not wish you to bear excess troubles when your path is already perilous.”_ Nyanar said, and Hem shivered. 

“I… He is a very good friend.” He said, edging around what he knew the Elidhu was referring to. “It used to be Maerad who could calm me from a nightmare, but before her no one touched me. Now, he can wake me by calling my name, or with a hand on my shoulder. It’s closer than I’ve let anyone get that isn’t my kin.” Hem said, letting out the confession in a rush.

_“There are many who travel with you, little one. What is the name of the one who calms you?”_

“I-If you watch… watch over me, the-then don’t… don’t— don’t you al-al-already… already kn-know?” Hem stuttered out, blood leaving his face.

_“You need to tell me.”_ Was the only response he received. After several long seconds, in which Hem dropped his head into his hands and breathed in small, shaky gasps, he managed a response.

“Saliman.” He whispered, feeling shame rush through him now that he had admitted it aloud.

_“And you love him, do you not? You need to say these things aloud, my little music-bearer.”_

“Ye-yes. I-I lov, lov— I love him-im.” Hem vaguely wondered at what point he had developed such a terrible stutter when he spoke of things close to his heart — maybe he’d always had it, as he never usually spoke of such things.

_“I think, that you should tell him so. How you do so matters not, just that you do. I have lived many timelines, and in each I never see you happier than when you are in his presence. Tell him your emotions, little one.”_ Nyanar’s voice was kind, and Hem felt a soft touch on his hair, causing him to look up with wide, glimmering eyes.

The Elidhu was leaning out of the tapestry again, to comfort him this time, rather than to throw him into a sea of music without a warning nor a lifeline.

_“Tell your beloved Bard how you feel.”_ He said again, cupping the boy’s face with leafy hands and pressing a gentle kiss to his temple. Hem relaxed at the feeling and nodded, letting the tension drain from his muscles.

“I’ll… I’ll tell… tell hi-him.” He assured, and the Elidhu stepped back, retreating back to stillness in his tapestry.

_“Courage, my kin. Courage.”_ With those words, Hem could feel the Elemental’s presence fading, leaving him to feel as if he was waking from a dream.

For many long moments, he sat there, pondering the conversation and his promise to tell Saliman how he felt.

The very thought was terrifying, but Nyanar had told him to, had encouraged it. A soft sound of movement pulled his attention to the door, where the subject of his thoughts stood, a magelight illuminating the look of worry on his face.

“Hem?” Saliman asked softly, and the boy stood, putting on a smile to hide anything of his emotions that might have still shown. Hem could almost swear he heard Nyanar sigh, although he could not tell if it was exasperated or happy.

“Did I miss a meal?” He asked, teasing, but the older man’s brow furrowed, as he frowned at him.

“You were late for dinner, Zelika told me you might be here. She says you think here often.” He offered, the two moving away from the room as they spoke.

“I do,” Hem nodded, biting the inside of his lip as he considered whether to offer more information on why he was in there. “I needed a bit of time, to think over some things.” He said quietly, hoping to appease his friend with the knowledge that he was dealing with things.

A hand on his arm paused him as they began to near the rest of the group. “Hem,” Saliman said gravely, face etched with deep lines of worry. “You must tell me if something bothers you. You cannot go this journey alone. It’s too much for even the strongest of people to bear alone.”

Hem nodded, taking the words into his head and mulling over them.

“I will tell you,” He said. “I promise I will.”

* * *

Two weeks passed, and Hem struggled to find a way to tell him. A major issue was getting Saliman alone; at this point he feared he may have to confess when Zelika or Hared stood mere feet away.

Another obstacle was the way that Saliman treated him. It was as if he were trying to keep Hem a child, rather than acknowledge the boy’s growing frame and age. It was frustrating for the younger, especially the moments that Saliman seemed to force the teasing attitude.

Sighing, he was grateful for the nights that he and Saliman spent in front of their fire, just them. He knew those were the perfect moments, but he couldn’t bring himself to say anything remotely close to what he knew he needed to say.

One such night, they spoke of Maerad and Cadvan, and Saliman smiled softly, a smile that Hem was completely familiar with. It was the one that made his heart beat a faster, made his palms sweat and his hands tremble. He rarely saw that smile, and it only made him feel as though he was falling, from a very far height, at a very fast speed, and there was no way to stop it.

When the older voiced his concern about the two, and their travels, he swallowed harshly, dragging up courage from his nervousness, and reached over to grasp Saliman’s hand.

“They’re strong Bards, Saliman. The strongest. They will be fine.” He assured, giving his hand a comforting squeeze.

“Yes, you’re right. It doesn’t stay my worry though.” He said, and the two fell silent again, Hem hyper aware of the fact he hadn’t moved his hand away from the other’s.

“Saliman?” He whispered, unconsciously gripping tighter as he prepared himself to speak.

“There’s, some...thin… somethi-thing I ne-need to te… I ne-need to tel… ttell y-you.” He stuttered out, flushing deep red.

“What is it? You can talk to me, always.” Hem listened to the words as he stared at their fingers, resting so innocently between them, his pale ones barely covering Saliman’s darker, rougher hand.

“I…” He paused, frowning nervously. “I-I’m not— not sure ho-how to…”

“Just spit it out. I find that seems to work best when I’m nervous about something.” Saliman offered encouragingly, and he nodded, swallowing as he closed his eyes, hand gripping tightly at the one he held.

“Iknowitswrongandyou’llneverfeelthesamewaybutIikeyoualot.” He said in a rush, and he grew anxious as the silence stretched, seconds seeming like small eternities until Saliman laughed, grinning at him when he peered up dubiously through his ever-growing bangs at him, wondering if Saliman was laughing at him for how he felt.

“I didn’t understand a word of that, but I‘m still here to listen, kid.” He chuckled, and Hem flushed red, pulling away from the man with his whole body as he stood. He knew it was sudden and unexpected, but he couldn’t stay here and confess his love when Saliman had called him ‘kid.’

It felt far too much like a rejection. A reminder and confirmation of his own doubts.

“I-I, um, I ne-need to g-go.” He muttered, retreating quickly, disappearing and letting his feet guide him back to the room where Nyanar’s tapestry hung, his eyes to blurry to see the way and his emotions too tumultuous to manage a light to guide his path.

He stumbled into the room, chest heaving and eyes burning as he closed the door and pushed a plank across it to keep it from opening. He managed to make it to the stone table he usually sat on, curling up on the stone surface as he let go of everything he was holding up inside him.

Fear for Maerad, for what her joinery would bring, what trials and hardships she would have to suffer, alone. Grief for Cadvan, who had died in an avalanche, who had protected him and united him with his sister. Hurt, and love, for Saliman, who he couldn’t seem to let go of. Fear for Zelika, that she would get herself killed with her reckless attitude.

So many more emotions he couldn’t name, and he let it all out, there on the stone in a dark room by himself. After a very long time, how long he didn’t know, he could feel the exhaustion catching up to him, wrapping him up in sleep’s warm embrace and he let go immediately, losing himself to the void as he let the world slip away from him.


	2. Chapter 2

Saliman scrubbed a rough hand across his face, biting his cheek as he watched Hem’s hasty, unexplained retreat. He wasn’t unperceptive — he knew how the boy felt about him, and he knew what had been said, no matter the speed it had been said at.

It wasn’t that he didn’t return at least some the affection, it was that he felt as though he was a perverted, sick criminal of a man for it. Not even the Nameless One was that twisted and awful. He sighed, feeling his guts twist. 

“You know he ran off to that room again, right?” A voice said from in front of him, and he looked up to see Zelika leaning against the rock, an air of quietness about her he usually didn’t see, and Soron a bit behind her. 

“Yeah, I know.” He muttered, trying to close his eyes against the image of Hem deep in thought on the stone table, not even noticing his approach, which spoke volumes about just how much the boy had let his guard down. He didn’t want to think about how hurt Hem would be now, if he would be on that awful cold stone again, and if it was because of him. He felt so guilty, wondering if he was a source of pain for the boy. He desperately didn’t want to be, he wanted nothing more than for him to be happy. 

“He was near tears when he passed me, didn’t even see me, actually. I know how he feels about you, Saliman of Turbansk.” Zelika’s use of his full name brought him out of his thoughts, sharply, to see her scowling at him, and he realized that he quietness was a calm rage, something he hadn’t seen from her before. 

“I don’t like to see my friends hurt, and while I may not be a Bard, I’ve got a lot more skills than _magery_.” She spat the word with contempt, a clear warning for him. He knew he needed to fix the situation but he didn’t know how, or if it was possible to at all. 

Sighing, he nodded, pushing himself up. “What do I say to him? I… it’s forbidden, even if I did feel the same. There are laws against it. There’s no way that I could return his affection. He has too many burdens to bear as it is.” He said, looking to the young girl who stared back at him with a burning fire in her eyes, something that put him off of. It was odd for the girl not to be throwing around threats and snarky remarks.

“Tell him the truth. Before I make you.” She said darkly. With that, she spun on her heel, hair swishing behind her, footsteps fading into the dark. 

“I know Bardic laws, but that boy is far older than his seventeen years, and you aren’t so old yourself, no matter how much sorrow you’ve faced in the years you’ve been on this earth.” Soron said, giving him a pointed look before following Zelika back into the buildings. 

Sighing once again, Saliman stood, making his way toward the room where he’d found Hem a couple of weeks ago. The door was blocked, but he managed to open the door without making too much noise, surprised to find the boy- no, young man, had put a plank of wood across it to keep it closed. He looked over, and saw the boy curled up asleep on the stone table, tear stains on his face, and shivering and it hurt the Bard’s heart to see his charge cold, looking so desolate. He closed the door and immediately went over to him, pulling the boy onto his lap, hoping that he wouldn’t need to take him back to the camp like this just for the boy to get warm. But Hem stopped shivering a bit later, sleeping more peacefully, and Saliman let out a sigh of relief. 

After a few moments in the darkness of the room, he lit a soft light, and began to speak in a low tone, a telling of his life, the adventures he had gone on as a child, and his teenage years, his lessons in the School, and finally his life as an adult, going so far as to admit to the darkness that he liked Hem a lot, too. The darkness offered no judgement, no refusal, it just silently accepted it. He addressed his words to Hem throughout the story, feeling as though this was only chance he would receive to tell it to the other, and not wanting to tell it when he could be judged after laying himself bare.

* * *

Hem was floating in and out of the realm of awareness, feeling strong, warm arms around him, yet they weren’t moving. Perhaps he was just imagining it? But no, there was a voice to go with the arms, a strong, deep voice, whispering things to him; soft and kind things, that made his heart warm.

“I want to return your feelings…” Hem registered the voice speaking, catching words here and there and piecing together what they were saying. “… too young, I feel as though I would be cradle-robbing.”

Hem nodded blearily, feeling his awareness start to outweigh the soft warmth of the blackness he had been floating in. He felt the person holding him shift, and a soft kiss pressed to his forehead, before they attempted to put him down. He whined in protest, gripping the person’s clothes as tightly as his sleep-addled mind could, unwilling to let the warmth leave.

“I’ll stay, then.” Came a resigned voice, and he sighed, happily, curling back into the warmth as he tried to gather his wits mentally. He was having trouble remembering what had happened, and he fought off sleep as it tried to wash over him again.

Memories came back, slowly trickling into his awareness, and he remembered the way it had felt to hold Saliman’s hand, the man’s inadvertent rejection, his flee to the tapestry room. He put his head down, struggling with his emotions, until he remembered that the person holding him had spoken about returning his feelings, or him being too young, or something like that. The words faded away as he woke up.

Tilting his head up, he opened his eyes a crack, not believing that it might be Saliman who was holding him. Yet it was, and when they met eyes, the man reach down and brushed a strand of hair from beside Hem’s nose. 

“You’re a very complicated young man.” He said, mouth twisting up at one corner, and Hem shrugged, squirming away and trying to put distance between them. 

“It’s my personality,” he pointed out. “I thought you knew that by now.” He said, smiling a bit to show he was joking. 

“Yes, well, you’re far more complicated than I had thought.” Saliman said, standing and tugging his robes straight, smoothing the wrinkles where Hem had lain on him. He pretended not to be disappointed by it, wanting to see a wrinkled Saliman more often. 

There was a beat of silence, in which Hem curled in on himself, feeling the cold of the stone room seep through his clothes as he did. It hurt the Bard’s heart to see his charge shivering, looking so desolate. He’d found the boy curled up asleep on the stone table, tear stains on his face, and shivering. He had immediately pulled the boy onto his lap, hoping that he wouldn’t need to take him back to the camp like this just for the boy to get warm. But Hem had stopped shivering a bit later, sleeping more peacefully. 

Saliman made a split second decision and strode forward, wrapping his arms around the boy. “Do not feel so alone,” he murmured into the dark hair. “You will find happiness when this war is over.” Hem’s breath caught, a sound scarily similar to a sob, and he pressed his head against Saliman’s chest. 

“I’m afraid.” He whispered after a moment. “Maerad…” his words trailed off, but he shivered slightly, and Saliman tightened his arms. 

“She’s a strong Bard, Hem. Her and Cadvan both are, and they have strong blades and noble horses to bear and protect them. Faith, Hem.” He said, carding his fingers through the younger’s hair. 

They stayed like that, Hem sitting on the table, Saliman holding him close, for an immeasurable amount of time, until it seemed the world had fallen away from them, and there was only the two of them in the world, the slow inhale and exhale of their breaths filling the silence. 

Saliman pulled away first, helping Hem up from the table, both of them wincing at their stiff muscles as they moved toward the door. 

“Saliman?” Hem asked, voice hoarse with emotion. 

“Hmm?” Was the murmured reply. 

“Do you really think I’ll find happiness when the war is over?” He asked, and Saliman turned to look at him, a reassuring smile curving his lips. 

“I’m positive, Hem. Even if you don’t become Zelika’s brave Bard who rescues her from Hulls, you will find happiness.” He said, and Hem scowled., not liking the reference to the children’s tale. 

“I don’t like Zelika that way. And she certainly doesn’t like me.” He pointed out, glaring with narrow eyes at the man who he did like that way. Laughing, Saliman pulled him under his arm. 

“I know, I know. Still fun to tease you.” He grinned unapologetically. Hem smiled, nodding a bit. Never had he felt both so comforted and so alone at the same time.

Despairing, he drew into himself a bit, biting his lip as they walked. Neither of them said anything, both lost in their own thoughts. Hem, wondering if he truly would find happiness after the war, and Saliman, wondering if Hem remembered his story, the one he had only had the courage to say whilst the young man slept.


End file.
